


Broken Racquets

by Greenninjagal



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Exy, F/M, No Foxhole peeps sorry, One Shot, Percy is always getting hurt, Suicidal Thoughts, everything is going to be okay, maybe? - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 10:37:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12130626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenninjagal/pseuds/Greenninjagal
Summary: “Grover, my friend, have I ever told you that you’re paranoid?”“I’m not-! I just-!” He huffed, “Well if I’m paranoid you are undoubtedly obsessed!”Percy took the insult with stride, kicking a rock on the path to the Exy stadium. It wasn’t like he could argue with his best friend of five years. Grover knew him far too well for the argument to be worthwhile. Also Percy didn’t make a habit of lying to himself.****An Exy AU that was needed, in which Percy loves Exy a little too much, Grover is a good friend, and sometimes broken things just get tired of being broken.





	Broken Racquets

It started with his mother standing in the bleachers when he’s ten whole years old, under a million layers of protective gear, but he can still see her. She doesn’t look tired, worn, or even uncomfortable in the winter freeze. She’s smiling, eyes sparkling, hair fluttering in the wind free as free can be. She’s cheering for him, happy for him, proud in the way he’d never been able to make her before. It didn’t matter what his grades were while he was breaking through the defensive guard, what his teachers thought, what school was going to accept him next. Percy was her son and every score he made, play he executed, breath he took, delighted her.

When he closes his eyes, he can picture her again, feel her voice pushing him forward, encouraging his shots, making him reckless and yet dangerous. More than a human, more than a headache, more than a disappointment: on the court under the flickering lights, he was Percy Jackson.

The game had all the violence of Hockey with the strategy of Lacrosse and the feeling of victory that came with breaking the laws of physics. He loved the feel of his racquet in his hands, like a lever catching and then releasing explosion after explosion of energy. He loved the feel of the ball in his net however long it lasted, the sound of his cleats on the floor powerfully throwing himself into other players and the general chaos that came with messing up his opponents. Exy was more than a sport to Percy Jackson, Striker, and long time closet exy enthusaist. It was nine-tenths of his life, proof that he was a fighter, and that no matter what happened he was always something when he was playing.

Percy makes shot after shot, finding more holes in the sloppy defense than even the coaches, he uses his teammates and suddenly the unfocused group of ten years olds can rally behind his lead. They crush every team that year. And the next. He loves every second of it. For a moment it looks like his future can be more than a shadow, it's a breath of life in his lungs that build him to become better than the best.

The world is in his hands, humming with possibilities, waiting for him to reach out and take it. His mother hugs him after every game and they get blue jelly beans to share on the car ride. He eats as many as he can pretending that the feeling of power lasts longer than the blue raspberry taste on his tongue. It’s every wish he can make, on every star, late in every night with wistful green eyes and earbuds that almost block out the yelling a room over.

It ends when he’s fourteen as he’s on the ground in the shabby apartment everyone tells him he should call home but it’s not really. He’s doubled- over, his mouth screaming sobs that would get him punished any other day, but he’d already….there’s nothing left for him to take away. His hand is clutched to his gut, his eyes wide, the pain nothing compared to the swelling hurricane that overtakes his mind.

Because _he_ took away the only thing that kept Percy sane.

It ends when his mother gathers him up, her arms supporting his dead weight somehow, someway as she leads him out of the room, the house, the city with promises that they never have to go back.

It ends, it ends, it ends.

When he’s fifteen, Percy wonders some nights if it ever even happened, or if it was just something he made up to handle-- to cope-- to breathe--

It ends, it ends, it always ends.

Exy was just a game.

One that Percy Jackson would never play again.

****

Grover sighed as he typed the rest of his sentence on his laptop, “Dude, please will you stop pacing?”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“I’m not sure, but, oh, here’s a suggestion: Your homework?”

Percy stopped mid pace, his fist to his chin in a deep thinking pose, but his mind had been lounging about the same topic for the past twenty minutes. It was fifty million degrees inside their dorm room, but Grover wasn’t complaining and Percy wasn’t about to take his gloves off. Instead he was rocking cargo shorts and a white T shirt with flip flops. Their air conditioner had broken a couple nights ago at the same time it seemed that everyone else’s had too. The misfortune made it hard for anyone other than Grover Underwood in his jeans and sweatshirt and obliviousness to the fires of Hell, to focus on mediocre things like homework.

Still the raven haired boy paused in his pace by his bed and slumped on the covers. Grover clacked away at some essay or research paper or blog post, while Percy lamented silently. “It’s too hot for homework, Grover.”

His eyes, brown as mulch flickered up to Percy; the only sign that he wasn’t a robot incapable of feeling extreme changes in the temperature. “You still have to get it done, Jackson.”

Percy grinned, “Well you know there is a place we could go--”

“No!” Grover’s eyes averted but he shifted to cover his mouth as he scanned the shining screen. He was hiding a smile, Percy knew; he wanted to go just as much as Percy did. “You know if we go there, you will get no homework done. Plus this is the fourth time this week. We’re going to get caught.”

“No we aren’t.” Percy waved a hand, “No one cares as long as we don’t break anything. I mean we’ve been doing this all year long and no one’s said a thing.”

Grover sighed, defeatedly, as he normally did when they had this conversation. “This sweltering heat must have melted my brain, if I’m going along with this.” He folded his computer closed, and eyed one of the many posters that decorated their walls. They had been with Percy so long he could have probably drawn them from memory. They use to decorate their room and Percy had brought them with him when they had left for college. Grover had seen them almost as much as Percy had, but he never asked him to take them down.

He knew what the posters meant to Percy.

Percy knew he could never be replaced as his best friend.

It's just like that, Percy felt like he got a second wind. He threw himself into a stand and rushed to his dresser for a pair of socks and the cleats shoved under the wooden furniture. Grover collected all his work, rechecking to make sure he had everything before sighing again. He acted like this was a painful event, but Grover Underwood was as much an Exy Enthusiast as Percy, he just didn't like to play the game as much.

The lights were on in the hallway that connected them to the rest of the non-athletic majored students, but the noise was non existent. Percy and Grover had long since perfected their sneaking out techniques, and based on the school's chatter about the rager some senior couple had held across campus they wouldn't have to worry about being seen. They could just say they were on the way to the party; any teacher would probably escort them there with intentions of getting just as trashed as the students.

Everyone who was anyone would be at the party, avoiding the heat and celebrating the last term of the year.

“They changed the password again,” Grover muttered as they walked. His voice was meant to be annoyed but he had failed greatly at it. There was a skip in his step that hadn’t been in his typing earlier and slicked back his curls to get a view of the New York Night sky. Through the haze of the campus path lights and the haze of the city Percy could just barely make out the stars, dull but still there in an ever constant dance. The night should have brought a chill, but Percy could feel sweat pooling in his gloves as they walked side-by-side.

“You’re lucky I overheard this time,” Grover said again, “I was running late for my class and the Stolls were talking about it right outside the classroom. I bet they changed it because they knew we were sneaking in.”

“Grover, my friend, have I ever told you that you’re paranoid?”

“I’m not-! I just-!” He huffed, “Well if I’m paranoid you are undoubtedly obsessed!”

Percy took the insult with stride, kicking a rock on the path to the Exy stadium. It wasn’t like he could argue with his best friend of five years. Grover knew him far too well for the argument to be worthwhile. Also Percy didn’t make a habit of lying to himself.

He loved Exy. He loved Exy almost more than his mother, which set in motion a swell of guilt because it was a stupid game and his mother was a wonderful person. Exy made him feel powerful when everyone else was trying to tear him down.

They hovered by some bushes, near the stadium, watching--impatiently in Percy’s case-- for the nightly guard  to stroll by his eyes glued to the glaring screen of his phone. Percy toed the green blades the grass, and twisted his racquet in his grip. Grover’s eyes shined like headlights, but his lips curled into a slim smile. As soon as the man’s shadow was gone around the corner, they both were darting across the pathway to the chain linked fence that bordered the grounds. Percy tossed his racquet over the barrier and watched it land softly on a pocket of grass. His hands slipped between the diamond hooks, throwing his weight into the air, and with only a couple seconds both the college boys were over the fence. Grover, with a satisfied hum that only came from being pleased with himself, lead the way up to the (admittedly hideous) orange entry doors.

Percy glanced at the camera, a smile for the sleeping night guard, before ducking his head back down to watch Grover punch in a four digit passcode and see the light flash green. Grover hissed out a breath between his front two teeth, as if he had doubted himself for even a mere moment. Percy nudged his arm, and opened the door. The lights were all off, except for the standard emergency lights that would glow even if the world ended. Grover hung his backpack over his shoulder, his shoes squeaked on the floor. Percy took a deep breath, letting the metal door close behind them and echo in the silent hall. It smelled like sweat and windex, cleaning supplies and hard work. Percy never got used to it.

“This was your idea, Jackson!” Grover reminded him from halfway down the hallway.

Percy laughed softly in the silent air, spun his racquet and charged after the other boy. He didn’t need even the meager lighting to find his way, he could breathe the air and tell the direction of the deathmatches, of the sweat and the blood of victors and losers, of the players. Percy could hear the hum of the scoreboards even when they were off, the cheering of fans even when the seats were empty, the squeak of cleats on the floors even when no one was there to move. He may no longer play Exy but just being in the stadium sent his limbs in a buzz, anticipate in his veins, a grin stretching on his face.

The hallway led directly to the bleachers that rose thirteen rows up. The arena was bordered by a half wall and plexiglass a whole inch thick, which was only accessible by the latched double doors. Grover headed straight to the arena, unlatching the doors, and finding his way blindly to the light switches. Percy veered off to right, where right before it opened up, the hallway had two doors on either side which led to the team locker rooms. He always picked the home team, where even though they were horribly colored, contained the teams extra gear. Percy made quick time through the team common area and picked through equipment closet for the set that was his size. It took him all of five minutes to strap on the pads and tie up his laces. His hands did everything automatically, his entire body on auto pilot.

He didn’t have a key to any of the rooms because he wasn’t on the team, but by a series of accidents he and Grover had discovered that the locks were more for show than safety. He had learned how to twist the handles and wiggle the latch just right that almost all of the doors opened for him. Of course he had never tried the coach’s office, or the girl’s bathrooms, or even the lockers in the common room. Everything he needed was in the equipment closet: pads, cones and a bucket of spare exy balls. Percy lugged the items to the area, a stupid grin spreading on his face, making the ache in his hand dull.

Under the scrutiny of the lights, the old exy stadium seemed to come alive. The goals were vast, and the floors polished, the window clear as the light of day. Grover had set himself up against the half wall, building a fortress with his textbooks and papers. He barely looked up when Percy walked in and placed the bucket of balls in the dealer’s circle.

“What drills should I start with today, Coach?” Percy called to him, his voice echoing off the empty seats.

He put on his best gruff, hardy voice, “That’s Coach Underwood to you, Maggot!” he tapped a pencil to his chin in such a Grover Underwood way that Percy couldn’t help but laugh through his warm up stretches. “Do the one where you hit the ball on the cone with the other ball.”

With another grin, Percy complied.

Grover and Percy had met when they were both fourteen, when Percy was trying desperately to find a reason not to kill himself and Grover was his mother’s friend’s son. His hand was a bloody mess, his mentality shot to shit, and his mother practically carrying him. He didn’t remember what the look on Mrs. Underwood’s face had been when they both showed up on her doorstep sobbing wrecks and bleeding and nothing left for them but the clothes on their backs and an Exy stick Percy couldn't let go of. He didn’t even remember how it all went down, meeting Grover, meeting Mrs. Underwood, somehow making a place in the left half of Grover’s room, a generous amount of space between a laundry basket and a bookshelf on an inflatable mattress.

Percy didn’t even know how they became friends, with the number of times he collapsed on his bed refusing to talk to anyone, filling the room with his miserable aura until Grover, bless his soul, finally snapped.

Percy was fifteen but he felt like he was hundred and seven. His hand was bandaged, he was between medications the fuzz in his brain accompanied with a throbbing pain, and memories threatening to tear him apart from the inside. They were both in Grover’s room, where the blue walls vomited posters for skateboarding and movies. Grover was on his computer, but he was talking aloud to himself. Or maybe it was to Percy. Percy himself was staring at the wrappings on his hand, watching his fingers twitch as he tried to imagine holding an Exy stick again.

Which he wouldn’t.

Because it was broken.

“Can you be anymore pathetic?” His voice was like a shotgun in the silent air, the bullet exploding through the haze in his head.

Percy blinked. His response was little more than a grunt.

Grover slammed the laptop lid closed. He was a scrawny runt of a boy, with curly brown hair that he hid under a Rasta cap. His wardrobe consisted of mainly jeans and T-shirts and tattered sneakers. At his full height, he was only to Percy’s shoulder, but that didn’t stop him from towering over the raven haired boy.

“Get up!” Grover commanded him. “Get fuck up!” He didn’t  wait for Percy to even raise and eyebrow. Grover with his noodle like arms, grabbed Percy by his wrists and yanked him up. Percy allowed it, if only for mere confusion, somehow Grover got him standing. “What is your deal?”

Percy at age fifteen couldn’t stop his eyes from finding their way to his useless, broken hand.

“So what?” Grover snapped, “It’s broken. Things break! That doesn’t give you the right to spiral into a depression!”

Percy gritted his teeth.

“You’re acting pathetic; it’s just a hand! It will heal, dumbass!”

“Shut up.”

“And if I don’t?” Grover snarled right back at him, “What will you do, Jackson? Throw yourself another pity party? Debate killing yourself? Slit your wrists?”

White hot anger pooled in Percy’s stomach, rolling around in a sea of ugly emotions. Percy wasn’t sure why his words felt like shrapnel in a gunshot wound. What the fuck did Grover know about broken hands? It didn’t matter that it “would heal”; you needed two hands to play Exy, two hands to do almost anything, two hands that needed to relearn how to do every thing. Percy gave his life to the sport, and it was ruined in a night he can only remember in his nightmares.

“Fuck off, man!” Percy growled.

“Are you going to make me?” Grover threw his hands up, “Didn't you break your dominant hand?”

“Go to Hell!” Percy yelled, “You don’t know a damn thing about my broken hand! It’s my dominate hand! I can’t fucking write, I can’t eat! I have to learn everything from scratch! Stop pretending like you have a clue what I’m going through! You don’t!”

“You are missing the whole fucking point!” Grover’s voice rose, high with frustration and desperation. His dark eyes wrestled with an anger Percy couldn’t even begin to explain, “Your hand!” Grover panted, like he was out of breath, “Your hand... _fucking_ … heals.”

Percy watched the other boy grab at his chest, pinching his eyes closed and dragging shallow breaths from his lungs like removing teeth from his gums. He took a step back, his lips dropping to a sharp grimace. “Your hand,” his voice was a raspy hollow version of the tone before, “ _heals._ ”

Grover gasped for breath, swaying backwards. Even Percy, with his anger hazing his vision could tell something was definitely wrong. He lunged forward and caught the other boy in his unbroken hand, a fistful of his sweatshirt that was meant to steady him. Grover blinked a couple times, a deep throaty sound resonating from every inhale.

“Hey,” Percy snapped, before lowering his tone, “Grover?” The other boy slumped into Percy’s grip, “Mom! MOM! SOMEONE!”

Grover grabbed at his face, a weak attempt at getting him to quiet, “fine... “ He gasped, “Shut up...I’m...fine…” He slipped away from Percy collapse back on his bed. His beloved laptop bounced and slid over the edge but neither of them paid it any attention. He reminded Percy of a rubber band stretched between two hands and then suddenly let go without any warning. Grover’s skin had gone to a pale, ashen hue, and his body seemed to deflate with all his focus on trying to breathe. His tongue stumbled over words that he had just seemed to articulately state just seconds before, “I’m fine...okay...stop…”

“What the hell!” Percy yelled, “You are not okay! MOM!” He wanted to run and get her or Grover’s mother, someone, anyone, but he was afraid if he left the room, the other teenager would go critical. Grover sucked on his lips grunting in pain, but when Percy made the step towards the door he lashed out and grabbed Percy’s arm.

“Please…” He hissed, “...don’t...get her….”

Percy wasn’t sure what it was: feeling the weak, desperate grip on his hoodie, or the look in his brown eyes, or the pleading tone. Whatever had possessed him made him nod, slowly, uncertainly and plop himself next to Grover on the bed. The other boy let out a hiss of relief that sounded like knives were clawing through his vocal chords.

Neither of them said anything. Grover closed his eyes and held a hand over his heart, as if willing it to beat. Gradually the other boy managed to take a breath and keep it, deeper and deeper, until it was like the incident had never happened. Percy waited sick in his stomach with his eyes trained on his crippled hand but not seeing anything other than the look on Grover’s upset face.

The room had gone silent and still.

“I’m sorry,” Grover’s voice was low. Percy almost didn’t hear it. “I should have-- I didn’t...I’m sorry.” He sounded normal, if only a bit tired. He drew the pattern on his bedspread absently while Percy dug his nails into his palms. “It’s not my business and I know breaking your hand is really hard--”

“What the fuck was that?” Percy interrupted.

Grover blinked.

“What was--that!” He flung out his hands indicating the whole other boy and the room and the memory of what had happened minutes ago. “What just happened?!”

He ran a hand through his curly hair sighing, “I don’t know. _No one_ knows.” He was flat, trying to be uninteresting but there was a deep set misery that Percy picked up on instantly, “Doc doesn’t know what to call it, unless it's “abnormal”. My heart sometimes just...just doesn’t work right. They don’t know if it’s a cancer or a heart condition or a cold I can’t shake. Mom is terrified I’m going to die.”

There was an underlying note that tugged at Percy. The fundamental fear that was suddenly completely obvious to him in a way that wasn’t before. _Grover_ was afraid he was going to die.

“Does it…” Percy swallowed hard, “happen a lot?”

Grover snorted, “Only when I get worked up.”

Percy stared at his hands. Side-by-side they were a mess, one unblemished and the other demolished. His fingers on one hand flexed when he wanted them to and the other was slow to respond. The throb of pain was starting to sharpen and soon he’d be able to take the next dosage of pills to dampen his senses again. He thought of holding an exy stick in his hands, flicking the ball in precise directions, bumping players and stealing shots. He thought of his footwork and the scrape of his cleats on the floors and sweat pooling in his helmet. He thought of learning to write with his other hand and learn to eat with that hand.

“Exy was the only thing that I did good at.” He said without meaning to, “I mean, I just...school and me aren’t a good mix. We’d move all over the place but I went through schools like eating potato chips, man.”

“You?” Grover scoffed, “No way.”

Percy couldn’t help but let in a little snort, “Mom didn’t have enough money to paid for a rec team when it first got popular. Everything she made went to food and rent and...debts.” He paused to brush off the memories threatening to crash down on him, “But there was a community game every saturday nights with the older kids in a park near one of our homes. They invited me to play when they were short a player.

“I didn’t know the rules at first. I think they liked kicking around a littler kid legally. But then I got good. Really good. I started making good shots, leading plays, intercepting the ball. When a rec coach offered to play me for half the cost my mom saved for an entire three months to pay it.”

They were both quiet. Percy let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, “Exy gave me control.”

Grover smiled, he sat up so suddenly Percy nearly jumped out of his skin.

“I’m going to teach you how to play with your other hand.” He declared.

“What?”

“I’m going to teach you how to play with your other hand leading. From now on call me Coach Underwood!”

“Do you even know the rules?”

“I can learn,” Grover waved it off like it wasn’t important and stood up, “Come on, Jackson, I know I have some tennis balls in a closet somewhere!”

Now Percy stood padded in a hideous orange flinging Exy balls at a target as if he had used his left hand all his life. His right hand had healed just like Grover had said it would, and although they both never said anything about it, he knew they both remembered that day far too well.

Grover’s condition prevented him from most physical sports. He hadn’t collapsed in a good couple years but Percy sometimes caught him pressing a hand to his chest subtlely in large groups of people. Without realizing it, Percy had begun to get anxious over straying too far from him for long periods of time. They had even agreed to go to the same local college, both on scholarships thanks to Grover’s schooling. (They had discovered that Exy made a very good motivator for schoolwork for both Percy’s passion and Grover’s craving to absorb as much knowledge of the sport as could fit in his brain.)

“Hey,” Percy finished his motion of scoring a hit in the low left corner of the goal plates. It didn’t light up, but in his mind Percy imagined it to be the game tying goal in the last minute, and the next would be their championship victory.

“Hey, the Hunter’s lineup next year…” Percy twisted his racquet as he scooped up the next ball and repeated his drill, “Do you think they’ll finally put Thalia in a defensive position?”

Grover glanced up from his laptop, “No way, they need her offensive. She’s far too use to being a striker, that if they pull her she’ll forget her place and leave too many openings. She’s aggressive, not defensive.” He drummed his fingers on the keyboard, “What they should do is move Phoebe from backliner to goal. It’ll condense the area she has to cover and her polished blocking skills would close down their goal. She tries to tag team with Nightshade almost every play, but her range of area as a backliner is too large for her to cover with their plans. Moving her to goal will decrease the range and increase her field of vision.”

Percy nodded following along as Grover picked apart the Hunter’s Exy team. It was the only all girl’s college team and they destroyed everyone but the Titan’s, who have been the reigning champions for longer than Percy’s been alive. Everyone was anxious for them to be uprooted, but no one had the skills to do yet. Other teams fell apart when it came to the Titan’s flawless teamwork and cold, refined skill.

Grover hummed and checked the time, “Wrap it up Jackson.” He commanded in his coaching voice. “We’ll need to sleep at least a little tonight, even if no one else does.”

Percy huffed as he pulled off his helmet, sweat line the inside from a night of drills. “Sleep is for the weak!”

“I admit to being the weak then.” Grover let out a tired smiled as he packed up up stuff. Percy still had to clean up the mess of exy balls and wipe down his borrowed pads, shower and put everything away. Normally Grover wiped down his equipment and put everything away while Percy showered quickly, but tonight sleep deprivation seemed to hang off the other boy’s limbs with scaly claws.

“Go ahead,” Percy told him, “I’ve got all this. And you need sleep. Don’t tell me you don't, because I saw you typing at three A.M. yesterday morning.”

Grover sagged. With a look around he sighed, “Are you sure?” Percy nodded and sent him a nudge towards the doors. Grover stalled only once by the exit, “If you’re not in our room by two, I’m alerting campus security, Percy.”

“Yes, yes, thank you mom!”

“I’m serious!”

“Go to sleep, Grover.”

By the time Percy was actually leaving the arena, with everything meticulous put away and cleaned and all traces of his midnight excursions erased, it was still a quarter to two. He waved to the camera outside the metal doors and hooked his exy stick over his shoulder. The night guard didn’t pass by again until a bit before three, so Percy didn’t bother rushing himself as he climbed the fence. The stars twinkled overhead like they were laughing.

He had forgotten how hot it was, and his body ached from exercise. It was both a wonderful and awful feeling. His limbs crying, but his mind congratulating him on an excellent workout. Not for the first time he wondered what it would be like to be part of that dysfunctional team, the Pegasi, that always lost but also guaranteed players playing time. They were made of nine people who fought with each other more than the opposing team, and yet still clung to a College team status like excess skin on an elderly’s bone. Percy tossed his racquet over the fence and hopped up it careful of the limbs that were aching. At the top he could see the flashing lights from the party across campus. His feet landed the soft grass with barely a sound.

Percy never even heard them come up on him.

The next thing he knew something had grabbed him and thrown him against the fence, and someone was punching his face. The fist knocked him against the fence again and again, until Percy couldn’t remember which way was up. He couldn’t see his attacker, the haze of the attack had him spitting out blood and sporting throbbing black eye. His heart leapt into his throat.

Memories swamped over him, of laughter that was not warm and touches that left burning agony on his skin. Memories of trying not to scream because then it would only get worse, tears that wouldn’t stop coming and his mother’s voice begging for it to end. For a second Percy was swept away in it, in the paralyzation that came with them, of the fear that reigned in his living nightmares.

For a second Percy couldn’t tell the difference between his mind and reality.

“Fucking Pegasi!” A voice howled through the attacks. Percy dropped to the ground his face pulsing, his ribs screaming and his knees too weak to hold him up. “You’re all talk, don’t you know?!” The voice was male, Percy recognized, too young to be apart of his nightmares. He nearly vomited with relief. A kick in his side sent him tumbling onto the soft grass. He scrambled for his exy stick a few feet away but a well place kick threw him away from it and on his back.

“You can’t play worth shit!” The voice laughed, “So we thought we’d give you a complimentary lesson in Exy, shithead!” Percy vaguely recognized that there were other feet behind him. The world was spinning around him.

Another kick, harder this time. He wasn’t sure the cracking sound was in his head this time with the amount of blood that welled in his mouth. He must have bitten his tongue. A hand yanked his head up by his black hair, and his felt even warmer breaths against his pulsing skin.

“Let your fucking Pegasi friends know,” the voice hissed, “they aren’t welcome in our division anymore.”

Percy spit blood at the attacker, “Why...scared?”

The faceless shadow laughed, “As if!”

Someone else must have come up behind him and kicked him in the head, because when he was shoved forward all the faded light was absorbed by an infinite black and he kept spiralling down forever.

****

Waking up was something less like the blissful awareness that he had been sleeping and more like agony violently exploding across all of his limbs, churning in his stomach, and dragging his brain in a rollercoaster of fractured memories.

He laid still, trying to catch his breath and locate something familiar to him. It had been years since he had gotten this badly injured, years since he had felt the edge of a malignant blow and tasted blood in his mouth. It had been years, It had been years, it had been years.

It wasn’t like before. He flexed his fingers, all five on both hands, to prove it to himself.

He was on a couch, his wounds dressed by careful fingers and someone checked his ribs for fractures between the bruises. His shirt had been discarded and someone removed his shoes, but other than that he was still in the jeans and socks and even his biking gloves that had seen better days. His eye throbbed, and his chest was a palate of blues and purples and even a sickly green-yellow color, but he could see and breathe which were the only things Percy cared about.

He ran a hand through his black locks to ward off the memories from the night before. He was in a living room, unlike any dorm room Percy had been in before. A TV was off a couple feet away the remote placed on a coffee table littered with papers and empty coffee cups and broken pencils. Manilla folders were stacked on the ground like a fortress wall meticulously placed in piles without labels.

Percy carefully pushed himself to a sitting position. His neck ached from the awkward sleeping position, and his limbs were frightfully slow to respond. Light streamed in from between broken blinds covering a window to his left. A wooden doors to his right and behind him look like a hallway to a kitchen. The air conditioner made a rattling sound like a bird was trying to break free, but the place was filled with a cool breeze that made the memory of the heat feel less real than his bruises.

What had happened? He’d been attacked, blindly in the night. He worried for a second that it was the school security, or gods forbid that the players had found out that Percy was stealing precious usage of their equipment. But the more he thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. What the voice had said, what Percy was pretty sure had been said, what a threat against the Pegasi, the exy team for his school.

For a second something really ridiculous occurred to him. Something so ridiculous he almost couldn’t believe it.

 _Someone_ had thought _Percy_ was part of the Exy team. He had been pulverized because they thought he was a teammate staying late for practice. He’d been holding a racquet and walking from the arena-- how could they not think that?

Percy blinked. “Grover!”

Grover had left before him. Had the attackers taken him down? Grover, with his heart condition that prevented him from even running sometimes, Grover who had been tired as hell-- Had he even stood a chance? Panic set in like a plastic bag over his head, growing tighter with each inhale. They had made a pack to look after each other. If Grover was hurt, if he was _dea-_ Percy didn’t think he could ever forgive himself for urging Grover to come with him to the Exy Stadium.

He flung himself to his feet, trying to find a balance when the whole world seemed to be slipping from under him. His vision blurred, the blood rushed to his head, and his bruises cried for him to be more careful, more considerate. Percy took one single step towards the door and promptly face planted on the ground. A flurry of paper exploded around him, messing up the carefully created files he had landed on.

“Motherfucker!” A feminine voice hollered. Percy vaguely heard the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps pounding on the wooden floor, but his body refused to follow his commands to look up.

“Please refrain from using such language in my house,” another voice, male this time, with a wizened edge.

“I just reorganized those files!” The first voice complained again. Percy glanced up blearily to see two figures kneeling near him.

He had to take a second glance. He thought he was dreaming. Of course he was dreaming, there was no other explanation. He was having some type of fever dream because he was actually dying.

The first was a face was someone Percy had always admired from afar. Annabeth “Exy Queen” Chase glared at him, blonde hair tied black, with grey irises glinting like the New York skyline. From a distance she was fierce, but up close, with her warm breath tickling his cheek, and her hands, soft yet rough with practiced calluses, touching him, Annabeth was a downright nightmare. And that was coming from someone who had lived a nightmare for fourteen years.

The second face Percy didn’t recognize until Annabeth had lifted him back into a sitting position. It was an older face, wrinkles deepened with wisdom, a beard befitting of a man of prestige and respect. He was in a wheelchair, with hands folded in his lap, like a counselor about to psychoanalyse Percy. The mere thought put him on edge.

This was Chiron Brunner, Exy coach for the Pegasi, and notable Exy kickstarter. He had been there when Zeus Grace and his college roommates Poseidon Olympia and Ares Olympia had first devised the game. Chiron had sponsored the creation of the game, pouring thousands of dollars into the league's. Without him, Percy never would have played Exy. ( _Or_ , his brain thought, _had his hand broken. Or met Grover._ )

Chiron had retired to be an Exy coach, faded behind other coaches as his team of fuck ups sucked worst than everyone else. Including Annabeth Chase, who was staring at him like he owed her an apology.

“Are you alright?” Coach Brunner asked him.

“Grover,” Percy managed through his dry throat, “Grover, is he--?” He didn’t even know what he was trying to say. Was he okay? Was he worried? Was he dead? There was no way Grover was dead, the police would be here instead.

Annabeth scoffed, “Are you just going to ignore the fact you ruined two weeks worth of my filing?”

Percy scowled at her, “Do I look like I give a shit about your godamn _files?”_ ”

Annabeth opened her mouth to spout something vile back at him, by her coach stepped in before the words got out. “I ask again if both of you could refrain from such language in my house.” The man ran his hand over his beard, “You're friend is okay, Mr. Jackson, if a bit on the nervous side. He's scarcely been out of this room for the past two days. I’m sorry for the rude awakening, but I am Coach Chiron Brunner and this is---”

“I know who you are,” Percy cut in but let out a huff of relief. Grover was okay. As far as he was concerned, everything was okay. He could swing an Exy racquet, Grover could help explain his calculus homework, everything was okay. He ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the itch of pain that came with even that simple action. He had forgotten how annoying it was to be bruised from top to bottom.

(Part of him was surprised; it had only been three years but in his nightmares it was only three minutes)

“Two days,” he repeated in a murmur. Oh boy Grover was going to kill him. He didn't want to think about what anxiety induced panic he had sent his only friend into. Oh gods of Grover told his _mom---_

“You've got a hard skull.” The coach informed him, “That beating you took was rather significant. When the campus police found you they thought you were dead.”

Percy figured it was fair: he felt like he had died anyway.

Annabeth had knelt back to her beloved files her anger fading to a more serene look. “That was a hell of a thing to wake up to.” She glanced at him as if checking him out, analyzing him, and dismissing him all at once. “So you really are the one that's been breaking into my gym and stealing my equipment?”

“First off, your name is nowhere on that gym, and second off, even if I was breaking in, there was no stealing involved. Everything was wiped down, put back, and locked up.”

“Are you seriously telling me that you did not break into the HalfBlood Court?” Annabeth rolled her eyes, “Jesus, we found you with a fuc-- an Exy stick.” She darted a look in Coach Brunner’s direction, unsatisfied with her own attempt to cover up a curse. “Also your friend told us everything.”

Percy couldn’t be mad at Grover-- not that he had had that ability after his fifteenth birthday-- but he still curled his fingers in his gloves. “Where is he?”

Somewhere a door slammed open and a familiar voice could be heard shouting, “JACKSON!”

“There he is.”

Grover appeared from down a hall, dressed in clothes that he must have slept in. His hair was curlier than normal, and skin flushed, even from across the room Percy could see sweat dripping down his back and it didn’t seem like it was from broken AC. For someone with a heart condition, he covered the distance terrifyingly fast, and Percy found himself in a hug he wasn’t expecting. The bruises on his chest screamed

“Grov--”

“Shut the hell up, Man!” His voice was angry but when he pulled back his expression was telling. Someone had replaced his best friend with a puddle of liquid relief in a human skin. “I told you before three!”

Despite the pain, Percy laughed (it sounded like an animal being run over). “Next time specify the day, G-man!” Grover punched him in the shoulder. “Ow-Ow! I’m sorry, Geez!”

“I thought you were dead!”

“You know it’ll take a bit more than three guys jumping me in the middle of the night to kill me!” Percy puffed out his chest, with a lopsided smile, but no one laughed. Grover winced and ran a hand through his hair. Annabeth and Coach Brunner shared a look, before the blonde captain spoke up.

“Percy...do you remember anything more about the incident?”

“When the campus police came, they saw your stick, and they called Coach Brunner.” Grover put in, “I fell asleep before you got back, but when I woke up and saw you hadn’t returned...I started to panic. I mean, I called around, and no one had seen you, and you didn’t come to breakfast. The campus police were stingy with information, but when I went to the office Annabeth and Coach saw how earnest I was. Dude, I’ve missed three classes out of worry for you!”

Percy frowned, “Sorry?” He made the mistake of shrugging which sent ripples of pain down his back. “Look, I don’t remember what they looked like. Just that they had a really wrong opinion of me.”

Annabeth nearly tore a paper from the ground in half. “We noticed,” She said blandly, “They left their opinion all over your face.”

“Well better it be me,” Percy dismissed her, to turn back to his friend, “If it had been one of your players like it was meant to be, they wouldn’t be getting back up.”

The room was silent for a beat. Percy’s skin felt agitated and he wanted to do nothing more than scream at them all. Annabeth for her high and mighty attitude, her coach for sitting there with a thoughtfully old look on his face like he could read Percy in a way he hated, at Grover for not telling them to stop giving him those pity looks. He wanted to scream at himself for not having fought back harder, for putting his burden on the rest of them, for letting his nightmares get the better of him.

“Percy,” Coach Brunner said quietly, “Mr. Jackson, are you saying your attackers had been aiming for one of my players?”

 _“That son of a bitch!”_ Annabeth spit before Percy had responded, “That’s low even for him!” She slammed a file on a stack and stood up. Her eyes burned with a hatred, grey clouded like smog in the city.

“Let’s not jump to conclusions, Ms. Chase,” Coach Brunner spoke but his tone was hollow.

“I’m not jumping anywhere!” She raged, “You know it was him! He told us not to compete next year. He _threatened_ us! Look at what happened!” She waved in Percy direction. The raven haired body shared a look with Grover but he looked just as lost as Percy felt.

“I’m sorry, who are we talking about?” Percy asked, “Are you saying you knew someone was going to get ambushed?”

The coach wore the face someone wore to a funeral, “I must apologize, Percy. Our exy team has a lot of enemies, though most hate us from afar.” He paused as if picking his words very carefully, “They seem to see us as a threat to their close rankings. Most fights are settled on the court, of course.”

“Other bastards use underhanded tactics.” Annabeth cut in, “Their limits are only the ends of their money.” She seemed to know exactly who had done this to him, and seemed to know that he had more money than the entire college had of student debt. Percy had a very bad feeling as to what that meant. The coach didn’t even reprimand her for her language.

“I had the sense to end practice this season early.” Brunner said, “We had only achieved fifth place this year so I had assumed my players were safe from any animosity. I didn’t want anyone to even by chance get caught up in a fight. We are the bare bones of a team in the first place.”

“That’s why I am desperately searching for another player.” Annabeth concluded, “My filing system which you just destroyed--”

“Percy plays Exy.” Grover said. “He could play for you.”

“What?!” Percy could scarcely believe his ears, “Dude!”

Annabeth crinkled her nose as if she had just stepped in dog poop. “That’s not a very funny joke.”

“It’s not a joke!” His best friend replied, “Percy is just as good as any of you--”

Percy laughed humorlessly, “Grover, shut up please.”

“--all he needs is another racquet! He’d leave you all in the dust!” Grover went on, “He’s been playing since he was five--”

“Wait, what do you mean _another?”_ Percy yelped. He looked around the room as if he would see it hiding under a table or lying against the wall, “Where’s my exy stick?”

Grover made a sound that reminded Percy of someone being stabbed. Percy had felt dread before--his whole life was one big game of dread. Dreading when he got home, dreading going to school in the mornings, dreading telling his mother he got kicked out _again;_ But this time Percy felt like someone had stolen both his kidneys and his lungs and replaced them with cheap rubber snakes.

_“Where’s my Exy stick?”_

“In the trashcan.” Annabeth said callously, her eyes averted back to her files, “There’s no fixing it.”

Percy didn’t want to believe it. He was standing despite himself, despite the pain, despite Grover grabbing at his arm telling him he was gonna hurt himself more. His eyes, he was sure were wild and dangerous, and his movement akin to a puppet with it’s strings cut. Percy flung himself towards the aforementioned trashcan in another room-- a kitchen?--, praying that this was a sick joke, a mistake, something other than reality.

His stick was the only thing in the trash can, which was a joke in and off itself. It broken at the handle and the net, the strings cut with scissors or a really jaded pocket knife. The staff itself was bent from slamming it into a wall or a car or a person far too many times. They, the shadows from his hazing memory had beat him and then they had broken his metal exy stick for fun.

Percy felt numb. His whole body suddenly breaking down without his consent or concern. His hands ached with old pain, each bone rubbing against each other with a chafing

sound that may or may not have only been in his head. His gloves hid the scar from sight, but Percy could hear the sound of his hand shattering, he could see the shaking that danced along his fingers when he wasn’t explicitly concentrating on them, he could still play exy but it wasn’t the same.

Not without the racquet his mother had bought him: an old third generation stick with a worn label and a name no one remembered, not even Percy, with strings that frayed and tore more often than was legal under the true Exy regulation, with a peeling grip strip taped over again and again just so he could use it. It was the racquet that had channeled every frustration, temper tantrum, every victory and defeat and practice. It was the racquet that had given him the world.

It was the racquet that had smashed his fingers to pieces in one hand.

It was the only thing he had been able to take with him when he left. The only thing he had shown up on Grover’s door step with.

In some ways it was as much part of Percy as his hand was.

And now it was broken.

Just like him.

He pushed over the waste bin, with enough force that it went flying across the tile floor. The smell of coffee beans and rosemary did nothing to calm him as he pushed away the vile symbol of what his future looked like. Anger, Resentment, Hatred... his emotions swirled like a hurricane in his head.

And somehow standing in the middle of that hurricane was her majesty, Annabeth fucking Chase, who’s life was a broadway display, a newspaper article, a joke and a jealousy all rolled up in one.

“Get me a new stick.”

“I don’t want you on my team,” She said. A statement. A truth.

“I don’t want to be on your fucking team,” Percy snapped. A growl. A lie.

She smiled, humorless, and in the artificial light of the kitchen, she looked like the demon everyone described seeing on the court. “No one wants to be on my team. I run them too hard and we lose anyway.”

“I’m so sick of losing.” He said. _Of losing my sanity,_ He didn’t say. _Of playing against myself, of letting others win._

“Gods, this is a mistake.” She said.

“You better believe it.”

It started with his mother standing in the bleachers when he’s ten whole years old, under a million layers of protective gear, but he can still see her. She always there, at every game, under every weather, against every scorecard.

It started with his best friend standing by his side, through thick and thin and emptiness. He’s proud and smart and always remembers to laugh. He’s loyal to a breaking point.

It started with an Exy racquet that reminded Percy of himself.

Broken.


End file.
